Post mortem maritimo
I went to the old lighthouse today. I'd never been there, at least further than the taverns. And then came the mixed feelings. My first thought might have been that it'll be the perfect place to go jogging, that I'd never found in Patras and then came the sea. And the rocks. And the scenery struck me, because it reminded me so much of one person, one era. Of all those emotionally charged moments that we'd talk in front of the sea of this town. Of the times that I was grounchy and strange and he brought me there. And I still couldn't relax. The appreciation of little things had always been my motto so why? I still don't think I've got the answer to that. So today was melancholic and akward. But not in a bad way. And I wondered: what comes post-mortem? I haven't been able to answer to this question sufficiently each and every time something died. It's complicated and needs time. It has limits to what one can or cannot say, but not definite ones, I think. I left the lighthouse wanting to mourn quietly an era that's already over and to welcome a new, uncertain one. That, in the good case could even reintroduce rocks and shores. And even laughter. I've learned to appreciate some more things, after all.